Home(sick).
Tomorrow I will travel back to a number of people and places that I call home. Since I left those people and places I have felt deeply unmoored. Lost. Lonely. Afraid. Since I left those people and places I have had to settle into the sounds of my own mind rattling around in my skull creating the faint echoes of life and the insistent lurching of my own blood running through my veins. These sounds, though imperceptible to all others, are loud enough to wake me from my sleep every night. These sounds mark my time alone, and unfortunately children cannot cure loneliness. That idea is the conceit of the childless.
Where I was once fortified by my familiars, I have found I can no longer cling to the distractions that their presences provide. I am learning to do without. Learning to appreciate the small over the abundant. Haven’t I learned this all before? I am starting all over again. Again. How many times has it been? How many more incarnations lie ahead? I should be grateful for the chance, the chance. Chances. To reiterate the self, the self. My self.
Yet, there is still no greater wish I have than to be crushed again by the weight of home and the stasis of memory, to be seen and lovingly recognized, touched, reclaimed and cherished again.
